


Mm, you're original sin

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dark!Matt, Kidnapping, M/M, Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: As if they believe they stand a chance against the man the whole of New York believes is the devil incarnate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to explain it but I missed them, so I wrote them. I hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Title taken from: Sarah Smiles by Panic! At the Disco

Foggy remembers a time when sitting here tied to a creaky, rusty chair with rope that smelled and hurt his wrists, was terrifying.

The men that have taken him off the streets are huddled together just a few feet away, and Foggy supposes that he's afraid, to a certain degree. Of them, of what they could do to him, of this situation. But the edges have been softened. He's no longer heart-pounding and adrenaline-rushing afraid. (And, if he's perfectly honest, he isn't sure who that says more about.)

Which is also a good thing. He swears he found a grey hair a couples of weeks ago. Karen had laughed when he told her and insisted that he's too young for grey hair, Foggy told her she knows nothing (which he apologized for in the from of coffee) and then began worrying about how the stress of being kidnapped every other week could make him go bald, and if there's one thing he prides himself on, it's his luscious golden locks.

One of his kidnappers laughs, high and annoying. _Like a hyena,_ Foggy thinks. He watches them, all standing in their matching leather. He wonders if it's a requirement. He thinks that by now he should have own jacket for all the time he spends in alley's and warehouses and around these people.

He'd get it all dazzled up in those fashion spikes. The kind that Karen has on that one handbag she sometimes carries.

But for all the ease he feels at this now tiring situation, he also finds himself a little offended. Could they not have found a nicer smelling place than this one?

The place they've brought him smells of mold, hot dog water, and smoke. It's very unpleasant and Foggy has found himself choking on the air more than once, and forcing himself to focus on not adding throw-up to everything that's going on with his current situation.

He twists his wrist, cranes his neck, and squints, trying to make out the time on his watch. Sadly, his attempts are fruitless and he gives up with a sigh. If he had to wager a guess, he'd say it's after mid-night.

Past mid-night and other than the initial kidnapping, not a damn thing has happened. He wonders if they're all as use to it as he is.

Step one: kidnap Foggy.

Step two: hang around until the Devil shows up.

Step three: die horribly.

Foggy let's out a heavy sigh and ignores the way his stomach turns at that last thought. He doesn't think he'll ever forget the first time he witnessed a man loose the entire contents of his lower body with a piece of jagged wood and a good angle on the Devil's part. The look of shock on the mans face as he fell to his knees and dumbly tried to put his insides back in. How he died with his eyes open, staring blankly ahead and into what felt like Foggy's soul.

Foggy startles when a noise other than the men's loud talking rings through the warehouse. He looks up at the busted up roof, looking past the exposed wood and rusted metal, to see the black sky, the moon shining in through the cracks and acting as the only light in the place.

The men must hear it too, because they fall quiet and do the same as Foggy. All looking around, hands now at their hips and drawing out guns and some pretty extravagant looking weapons, all with serious expressions on their faces.

As if they believe they stand a chance against the man the whole of New York believes is the devil incarnate.

Foggy holds his breath as his heart begins pounding wildly in his chest. _You've seen it before,_ he tells himself in an attempt to make it easier.

He wishes (not really) he could feel good about the death of these men and all the ones before them. He tries to remind himself that they're bad men and bad men deserve the bad things they get, but he can't, because all he sees when he remembers them is how they look before they die. How they fight with large guns and the best weapons money can buy them and how it's never enough. How they're last screams and dying breathes play on repeat in his mind in the dead of night, accompanied by a joyous laugh that both haunts and reassures him.

It's quiet now, save for the soft grind of their shoes on the pavement and the sound of his own breathing. Foggy can almost taste the anticipation and tension in the air, can feel it dance up his spine and he shudders when it sets his nerves ablaze.

And it's just as quiet when something whizzes through the air and lodges itself in-between one of the men's eyes. The unlucky man stumbles back, back arched and mouth wide, looking like he's suspended in time. But then, with a hollowed exhale, he falls to the ground, lifeless.

This seems to spur the other men into action. They break apart and start yelling things into the darkness. Taunts and false bravado and Foggy wants to scream at them to run for their fucking lives, though he knows that'll do jack-all.

He remembers doing that once. He also remembers what the burning barrel of a smoking gun feels like on his temple.

One of the men is suddenly pulled from the group, falling to the ground with a shout of pain. Foggy watches with wide eyes and pity in heart as the man struggles to free himself from the blade that has pierced his leg. He doesn't struggle for long before he's pulled into the darkness, leather jacket scraping against the pavement.

Foggy closes his eyes when the other men start opening fire on the darkness with no rhyme or reason to where they're shooting.

They don't see him, probably won't get him. Foggy thinks they're just delaying the inevitable.

He spares a thought to himself, wondering if this is how he goes, a stray bullet from an open fire.

Foggy open his eyes when the firing ceases, the smell of gunpowder and smoke burning his nose. It's quiet again, the echo of the shots the only sound. Dread settles heavy in Foggy's stomach.

“My turn,” the darkness says, and Foggy closes his eyes once again, because he knows what's going to happen next. He doesn't need to see it again.

 

“Hello beautiful,” The Devil says after what feels like forever. He sounds out of breath and Foggy's ears are ringing with the sounds of screams and gunshots and the sound he now recognizes as a plethora of blood smacking the pavement.

Foggy hesitates, but opens his eyes. He feels the tears on his cheeks and everything feels heavy thick. He tries to move, but remembers he's currently still strapped to a chair and makes a point to look up at the Devil and not the carnage before him.

He knows how he must look. He feels pathetic enough, but he also feels stretched out. Too big for his own skin and it's an unpleasant and uncomfortable feeling. He barely holds back the urge to beg the man to take him home. To get him away from here.

The Devil is panting, Foggy watches the rise and fall of his chest with the strong need to focus on something. There's also blood splattered all over his outfit, and a nasty looking cut on his cheek along with other little rips and tears in his not very practical outfit. Foggy remembers a time he'd ask the man if he was all right, but he knows better now.

Foggy swallows his heart and tries to keep his tone annoyed. “Took you long enough.”

The Devil's smile falters but only for a second, barely noticeable, before it doubles in size.

“Well, my apologies.” he says, as he crosses the distance between them. “I didn't mean to keep you waiting. It won't happen again.”

The Devil kneels in front of him, hands stealing not so innocent touches before working the knots that are holding Foggy in place. Foggy, somehow, finds it in himself to roll his eyes, knowing full well that the man has knives that would make this process a whole lot faster and easier.

He also doesn't mind it one bit.

Once untied, Foggy makes to stand but is stopped by the Devil laying his palms flat on either of Foggy's thighs. He's silently thankful, because he doesn't think he can stand on his own. Not right now. He's used to this yes, but that doesn't make it any easier.

“Are you hurt?” The Devil asks, palms rubbing in slow circles, head cocked to the side in mock innocence. Foggy wants to smack him, but at the same time hears the underling concern. Feels the Devil's hands shaking as they move against the fabric of his pants.

It's then that Foggy makes the mistake of looking away from the man. He has no idea how he forgot in such a short amount of time, but he did. He looks out into what appears to be a sea of still bodies. He's glad he can't quite make them out, details he know he doesn't need or want stuck in his mind. But that doesn't matter. Knowing they're dead and had died in probably some of the most horrific ways is enough to shake him to his core.

A scream rings through his mind, high and sharp. He flinches, his gaze now back on the Devil.

“No,” he manages, shaking his head. The Devil nods at that, his usual smile now in a thin line, bordering on a frown. His hands stroke up and down Foggy's thighs a few more times before the Devil takes both of Foggy's hands in his own. The Devil then leans forward and presses his forehead to Foggy's knee. He doesn't say or do anything more than that and Foggy let's him.

He always feels the need to say something in these situations, but finds there aren't any words.

“I'm guessing you'll want to go home now that you've been rescued,” The Devils says after a while, sounding far away.

“No point in hanging around here any longer,” Foggy says. He really does not want to be here any more. Never wanted to be here in the first place. But, something in the Devil's tone makes him weary.

“And if there was?”

Foggy's brows furrow. “Was, what?”

“Another reason to stay here.”

Foggy squints at the man, honestly lost. His stomach is churning from unease. “But there isn't.”

The Devil moves then, no longer kneeling but leaning over Foggy and a hairsbreadth away. The action makes Foggy startle back, his hands now gripping the arms of them chair.

And yet...it's not an unwelcome move.

The Devil cocks his head to the side.“Isn't there?”

Foggy's eyes flicker between where he believes the mans eyes to be, and his lips. They're rough looking with speckles of blood from the fight.

That aside, Foggy can admit they're very nice. He swallows thickly.

Once again aiming for annoyed and not what he's actually feeling, which is too much to even properly comprehend, Foggy huffs, “Are you gonna tell me what you're thinking or am I gonna have to learn to read minds?”

The Devil sighs, big and dramatic and Foggy finds himself wondering where the brooding mess he was not a second ago went.

“I just find it hurtful you want to leave without properly thanking me for saving you.”

Foggy can't explain it. He could think about this man and these situations they find themselves in until his head explodes, and even then he knows he'll never one-hundred percent understand any of this. But this, he knows the man's not telling him the full truth. That he's gone for the less terrifying route, one Foggy knows he's grateful for, because he isn't sure he could handle knowing the full truth and the complete extent of whatever they have may mean to this man. Isn't sure he's ready for that kind of insight into the mans mind and thoughts.

So, he takes the out given to him, accepts the half-truth and teasing because it's easier and familiar and less likely to haunt him like so much of this situation is guaranteed to do. Like it already does.

“You know,” he says, poking the man's chest, “I'm beginning to suspect you're behind all this just so you can kiss me.”

The Devil's smile returns, as playful as it is deadly, and it makes Foggy's heart flutter.

“I would never.”

“You don't need this just to get me alone, you know that, right?”

The Devil's smile falters again, but this time it's different, and Foggy can almost feel what the man is thinking from the way his smile fades and his lips part.

Foggy grabs the mans face between his hands, gently, mindful of the fresh cut on his cheek.

“You're a bad, bad man,” he whispers and the Devil, reputation be damned, whimpers before surging forward and capturing Foggy's lips in a kiss.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Still here, still loving this D!M AU
> 
> Not beta read
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/


End file.
